


Suffering Loneliness

by SophieZhang



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:31:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3844147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieZhang/pseuds/SophieZhang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reese has a chronic illness and disability called Finchsickness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suffering Loneliness

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my mother tongue -^-, so please forgive my mistake or point it out QAQ  
> Thanks~

Despite Reese tackled today’s number successfully, no vandalism, no car accident, nor shot, he was still unhappy. He sits in park watching the flourishing city, enjoying people coming in and out in front of him, lots of families and kids, and seeing birds falling dead to ground. He is alone, suffering the dark hours of contemplation. He isn’t sure what he should do, where he should go. Go back HOME? No, it is not home. It is just a word, a penthouse apartment. Even the rough library---the decline of western civilization---is better than the plush house. In fact, he seldom uses this word---home, when he means to say it. Most time he use variants such as” the place where I live” or “somewhere in Chinatown” to substitute. He could not have a right to say the word because he had lost it. His country is America, and the place of his birth is New York, but he couldn’t say he was going home for he left this city a mere child and returned quite a different man in 2011 aged thirty-eight, with his acquaintances all dead and life ruined irreparably. He had home and not home. One of those trick syllogisms that are rough for some mundane counterparts had solved that bother. He was alone, losing a word which indicated not only a physical, geographic entity but a sense of security. The matter was none was waiting for him. He was alone, and he deserved that.

Gradually he had habituated himself with the lack of home, and the reason was, obviously, the gentleman by the name of Harold Finch. It was the fill of the lack not of God but of his rigidly-wrapped-up boss. He survived because he took this really private man’s word of not killing himself with whiskey and came in for a job, a purpose to sustain his life, to stay there, to live in the dirty but beautiful world-as well as overwhelmed his attempt to go direct to heaven or the other way before his travel to Brooklyn Bridge. He started his job, intervening violent crimes involving ordinary people as their numbers up. He found numbers, kept eyes on them, and then dealt with them. Before long he regained happiness and hope, as well as ignored his aloneness. Finch saved him, in every aspect. He did really good work and supposed it would please his boss.

He was lucky—Finch found him and gave him a second chance to connect to the world. Early time it’s hard to make himself fit to this comportment, to learn another language and to get it right, like: Good morning, Finch; Are you there, Finch; Thanks, Finch. Even, I love you, Harold, I love you. When he said these he was dying, whispering them terrified, he was feeling sorry, for Finch and for himself, but Finch replied, I know, Mr. Reese, I know. I love you, too, John. Thanks for fate and gods just in a good mood, he survived, again. He struggled to make it because he knew someone was waiting for him. He was not alone. With that came an intimate relationship which was represented in words: Harold, where is my leather belt; Harold, are you free this Sunday; Harold, I want you. All those words came in his mouth pretty handy. He was not about to flaunt, HEAVENS NO, there’s just no denying that it was that bloody wonderful to let someone in, psychically. He put his roots in New York again, because Finch’s here.

But now he is suffering in loneliness; he is alone, in the dark park, with night fall. He misses Finch, the first and the last one he could think of, he could count on. It’s very much like he has a chronic illness and disability called Finchsickness. He is long for Finch. The desire is so strong that thrills him to his boots. He is suffering in loneliness, like millions of loners, refugees in New York who lose or will never see their love.

“……Mr. Reese? Why are you sitting there alone?”A man is standing in front of him with a little overdressed.

“Harold?”Reese can’t figure out why Finch is here and stand looking at him, “I thought you’ve gone to France for business.” He tries to point out it.

“The meeting was over ahead of time and I’m back.”Finch replies, “So answer my question now why you are sitting there alone at night, why don’t you just shove yourself into a refrigerator? Aren’t you aware of there has much chance to catch cold? ”Finch says, frowning at him, annoyed.

“I just…..”Words falls Reese for the man he missed is right here. He does a double-take at Finch up and down to ensure it’s real not imagination.” I just don’t know where I could back.”

Finch pauses. The silence spread amid them.

“Given our situation, John,” Finch says in his ear after a moment,” if you don’t mind, you can go to my home with me and I think we could sit together for a tea. Do you agree?”Finch stares at the ground, wants to pretend that he is doing it absent-minded, but his face which flushed luridly along the cheekbones betray him.  
Reese gawks then awakes immediately, “Yes, I do.” He says cheerfully, and his heart is pounding. It was too much, but Finch gives him a happy, shy smile. Finally Reese put a hand on Finch, with he matches his stride to the short guy, they went together down the path, through the park gate.


End file.
